


alias

by GrumpiestCat



Category: Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpiestCat/pseuds/GrumpiestCat
Summary: And she knows some of the people in Narcotics would laugh at what they call being undercover.





	

Almost nine in the morning and she called him 'Robert', because they were undercover. (And she knows some of the people in Narcotics would laugh at what they call being undercover.) Today, it was the control freak wife, so he could bond with the suspect over their poor choices in women. She didn't murmur his name in an adoring tone, she didn't put her hand on his arm. She glared and sighed and emphasized the 't' at the end. Robert was starting to agree with his mother; he could have done better.   
  
Half past ten and it was 'Bobby' because she was upset. Weeks spent chasing leads, eliminating suspects, analyzing evidence, preparing testimony, and the jury took half an hour to decide none of it mattered. (Jerry's dad used to beat him, so it's okay that he raped and murdered a diplomat's daughter.) She caught a glimpse of his movement in her peripheral vision, but she shied away from his touch. Ten months ago, she had sat there in interrogation while Jerry and her partner played the Whose-Father-Was-a-Bigger-Sonofabitch game; ten minutes ago, twelve people said, 'not guilty, not guilty.' She wasn't in the mood right now for his explanations, his random quotations, his rationalizations.   
  
A few minutes after noon and it was 'Goren' because they were playing Good Cop, Bad Cop. (Version 5.0.) He was the meek, intimidated loser, partnered up with a ball-breaking shrew. She spit out his name in a bitchy, pissed-off tone, as if to imply that the next words out of her mouth were going to be, "Shove it, asshole." He wouldn't meet her eyes, but the minute she was out of the room, he whipped out the truly vulgar language. She watched from the other side of the mirror as the crime scene photos came out, realizing a few moments after he did that this wasn't their guy.   
  
A quarter to two and he was 'Bobby' again, because the self-flagellation Olympics were back in town, and he was going for a gold medal. It wasn't his fault and he couldn't have seen it coming and she wanted to slap him when he pushed her away. Except then he was off and running, and all she wanted to do was bring him back. "Bobby," to the empty room, and "Bobby," out in the bullpen, and "Bobby," over the phone, but it didn't stop him.   
  
Practically eight in the evening and it was 'Detective', cold and harsh, because she wasn't going to forgive him that easily. (Except he had an apology and a peace offering and then he made _that_ face.) He had been thinking - of course - and so had she, and with the two of them together, they almost had a coherent theory. Credit card records were boring, but they proved her point, and phone records were even more boring, but they supported his conjecture. A new suspect, a new motive, and this time they might not even need a confession to nail her in court.   
  
Damn close to midnight and he was 'Bobby' once more, because she couldn't call him by his last name when he was kissing her neck. Crimes unsolved and suspects on the loose, but they couldn't save the world in a day, so here they were. His apartment, because it was cleaner, the sofa because they hadn't worked up the energy to get to the bedroom yet, half-naked, because she had interrupted him.

 

(fin.)


End file.
